unnoticed
by CatFish
Summary: All his life, Ron has never been noticed. Now he has, and it isn't from the one he wants. (mild Ron/Harry slash. And I *do* mean *mild*)


  
Title: Unnoticed  
Author: CatFish  
Email: element80@artlover.com  
Archive: HPSA, my site [(Laboris Solis)][1], ff.n, anywhere else please e-mail me.   
Rating: PG  
Pairing: Ron/Harry... sort of.   
Spoilers: Miniscule one for GoF in the fourth sentance. Otherwise, nope.   
Warnings: Ron/Harry slash. Very, very mild slash. There isn't even any character   
interaction, so don't fuss. It is *not* a happy, fluffy fic.   
Feedback: Constructive critiscism helps me improve. Compliments make me happy. Flames   
make me laugh. So send away!   
Series: Maybe...  
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry. In fact, I don't own anything in this story except the idea, the arangment of the words and an insane mind. Most of this stuff belongs to JK Rowling and whoever she feels like giving it to (which isn't me). The cover's mine, though Ron isn't.   
_This little idea jumped up and bit me while I was writing my Sirius/Remus fic, and   
threatened to crash my computer if I didn't write it. What could I do? I wrote it, and I'm   
quite pleased with it, actually. My computer crashed anyway. >_<   
I have a cover for this fic [here.][2] Actually, it's hardly a decent cover, just a picture of Ron and the word Unnoticed at the bottom... but we can pretend, can't we? (It's a bad picture, too...)  
Many many thanks to Bec, who beta read it, to Asuka, who tried, and to Claire, who   
didn't really change it any, but said she liked it, which makes me feel special.   
And now...  
  
_   
  
***  
**unnoticed**  
  
  
  
It isn't fair, you know.   
  
You get everything. All the attention, all the praise. Everything happens to you.   
  
I know it's not your fault- most of the time, anyway. I know you didn't ask for your name   
to be put into the Goblet of Fire in our fourth year. Didn't ask to be the youngest   
Quidditch player in over a century. Didn't ask to be famous.  
  
Didn't ask to be the boy who lived.  
  
You never appreciated it. Always told me I was lucky that nobody followed me around   
with cameras. That it was only a nuisance. You never wanted any part of it. But I...  
  
I wanted it. Wanted somebody to notice *me*, Ron Weasley. You're an only child, you   
wouldn't understand what it's like having six siblings. Even among them, I'm   
nothing special. I'm not the youngest, since Ginny was born... I'm not even in the middle.   
I'm just the second youngest. The second-to-last to attend Hogwarts.   
  
The second to fall in love with Harry Potter.  
  
Ironic, isn't it? Ginny's one ahead of me even there, it seems.   
  
You were the first person who really saw anything in me... and in a way, I hate you for it.   
Because it's *you*. The famous Harry Potter. And all I am is the Famous Harry Potter's   
best friend.   
  
Which, of course, is why I won't tell you. Because then I'd be the boy who loved Harry   
Potter. Not a person of my own, but always connected to you.  
  
And I hate it and love you at the same time.   
  
There's another reason, too. A silly reason, Hermione would tell me if I could ever get the   
courage to talk to her about it. An irrational reason.   
  
I hate you for not being able to tell.  
  
That is silly, isn't it? Because I'm doing everything to make sure that no one knows.   
Especially you. But I still hate you for not noticing.  
  
Because it's be *you* who hasn't noticed, this time.   
  
And someone else *has* noticed me.  
  
They asked me to join them last night.   
  
I never imagined that it would be that simple; that they'd simply send a messenger to   
*ask* if you wanted to become one of them. I rather imagined there'd be torture   
involved. But they just asked.  
  
They said they saw something in me, Harry. Something they needed. Something that could   
be invaluable in the battles to come.   
  
Something *special,* Harry.   
  
They told me to think carefully. That there was war coming, and that I should be sure to   
be on the right side.   
  
That I could be a pawn on one side... or a knight on the other.  
  
They gave me a few days before I answer.  
  
And damn it, Harry, I *know* they're exploiting what they know is my weakest point. I   
*know* they're only saying what I want to hear.   
  
But God, Harry, I want to hear it.   
  
And I'll never hear it from you.  
  
I have the parchment in front of me. They want the answer by midnight tonight.   
  
And I don't know what I'll say.  
  
  
****  
_I don't know whether I'll continue this or not... there are different places I could take it. Mmm... possibilities. Feedback good._

   [1]: http://hyperion.spaceports.com/~laboriss/
   [2]: http://hyperion.spaceports.com/~laboriss/fic1.html



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